The Shroud Codex - Jerome R. Corsi [81]
“That’s more than he has told me,” Castle said, making a mental note to add the information to his file.
“Paul also made me feel like my destiny and his were linked,” she went on. “He said that I was meant to find those divorce papers and I was destined to come back and meet him.”
Sipping the red wine and finishing the entrée, Anne could see the room was getting ready for the speechmaking to begin.
“I was thinking,” she said coyly, “that maybe we could have dessert back at the hotel, unless of course you think you need to stay for the conclusion of the evening here.”
“A great idea,” Castle said with enthusiasm. “I’ve already made my donation to this charity for the year, so it seems to me that in my case the speeches we are about to hear are superfluous.”
Back in the limo, Castle called the Waldorf Towers room service and arranged to have another bottle of champagne brought to Anne’s suite, along with some chocolate soufflé.
When they arrived, Castle was pleased to see room service had been so efficient. The room was arranged for dessert for two by candlelight, just as Castle hoped it would be.
Finishing the dessert and champagne some forty minutes later, Castle decided it was time to excuse himself for the evening.
“You’re a charming woman,” Castle told her sincerely. “But you are also the sister of a patient. I want to thank you for a delightful evening. When this is all over, I hope I can ask you out to dinner again, maybe on less formal terms.”
Anne was flattered by his comments. “I’d be honored to accept, Stephen,” she said, happy to already be on somewhat less formal terms with a man she admired as much as she did Dr. Castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sunday morning
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, New York City
Day 18
Castle slept late, enjoying a Sunday morning he hoped would lead to a day totally without patients.
But just as he was rolling over in bed, ready for another round of sleep, his cell phone rang.
“Dr. Castle, I hate to bother you again,” Father Morelli said in a clearly worried tone, “but you have to get over here right away.”
Not again, was Castle’s first thought. “What is it this time,” he said, not attempting to disguise his annoyance. He suspected this was going to develop into yet another Father Bartholomew crisis.
“Before I was awake, Father Bartholomew got dressed and left the rectory. He went over to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and he has begun to say Mass. I’m there now, standing in the back vestibule.”
“Doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary,” Castle said, trying to figure out what exactly was the problem. “I didn’t want him out in public, but it doesn’t sound like anything unusual is going on.”
“It might not seem much to you,” Morelli said, “but Father Bartholomew put on purple vestments to say Mass. It’s not Advent or Lent. Today there is nothing special in the liturgy. Father Bartholomew ought to be wearing green vestments.”
“So what?” Castle said, still feeling irritated at being disturbed, particularly this Sunday morning.
“Violet is the color that designates royalty and penance,” Morelli told him. “It makes no sense to wear purple today unless Bartholomew is focused on Christ’s passion again.”
“How’s that?” Castle asked.
“After he was scourged at the pillar, Christ was covered in a purple robe and mocked with the crown of thorns,” Morelli said. “I am afraid of what might happen next.”
“I’ll be right there,” Castle said, resolving it was best to go to St. Patrick’s immediately, rather than regret it later.
As the taxi approached St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Castle could see Fernando Ferrar’s mobile broadcasting truck was parked on Fiftieth Street.
Rushing inside, Castle found Father Morelli in the vestibule at the back of the church, at the Fifth Avenue main entrance.
“There was nothing I could do,” Morelli said pleadingly to Castle. “Ferrar charged